A Flower Quickly Fading
by Reading Disorder
Summary: Rapunzel's coronation day does not go exactly as planned.
1. Bad Dreams

**Coronation Part 1: ****Bad Dreams**

"Your Highness, _please_, we mustn't dawdle."

The palace butler Jasper wasn't the only person tailing Rapunzel today. As the Princess ran through the corridor in her bunny slippers, lifting her satin-silk dress up above her ankles so that she may run without tripping, a whole entourage of royal makeup artists scrambled after her.

Fussy hair-maestros were braiding the stray tresses in her jungle of mahogany hair, maids were clamoring over the frills in her royal gown, and young flower-girls were skipping alongside, playfully twirling the long waterfall cape that trailed along on the marble tiles, blissfully mistaking all the panicking commotion to be some form of giddy excitement. A frantic flurry of activity buzzed around the delicate flower that was Rapunzel, though she looked a far cry from the barefoot, high-strung ingenue that came knocking on the palace doors a year ago. Take a look at the numerous mirrors hovering in front of her face by servants' hands and you'd see it too. Despite being nineteen, she still looked too young for make-up - her cheeks had been puffed and powdered to a rosy tint. Her eyes were glowing with thick mascara and dark smoky kohl, and on her lips was a luscious, metallic sheen of cherry-red. Gone were the lingering baby fat and coy girlish demeanor as well, here in its place was a young lady. A strong, confident, beautiful, young lady, who always carried herself with the elegance and grace of true blue blood. Today though, it was kind of difficult to see it.

"This isn't happening. This isn't happening." She hadn't looked this anxious since her first visit to the Snuggly Duckling last year. Only this time, instead of ruffians, thugs and men with pointy teeth, the thing that was scaring the death out of her was regal affairs.

Jasper was exploding, "Two hours ago, you were supposed to be greeting the guests at the congregation hall in the left wing. Half an hour ago, you were supposed to be rehearsing the oath recital with Tutor Hendrick, and fifteen minutes ago you were supposed to be meeting with your parents in their chamber! And now you're late for the ceremony!" The poor balding man threw his hands up in exasperation, "Mercy me, your Highness, if you're going to keep this up, at least learn how to be in two places at once first!"

"I know, I know!" Rapunzel pulled at her stray locks of hair in an attempt to rip them out, much to the screaming horror of her hair stylists, "I can't believe I'm going to miss my own coronation! Oh, why did I let Eugene set the alarm for me!"

They barreled the large doors open into the stately halls of Corona Palace. Rapunzel was hoping for a silent entrance, and that was exactly what she got - the moment she burst inside, buggy-eyed, hair in shambles, and her diamond tiara lop-sided, all eyes turned to look at her.

The horrendous gasps from the nobles were quick to follow.

"I'd dare say!"

"My word!"

"An outrage! A disgrace!"

Her eyes darted back and forth, watching her princess friends on the pews laughing quietly, the disapproving glares of the lords and princes, and the prim and prosy Countess Cruella, who was grimacing with a high dudgeon that condemned her very presence, as if to say, 'Filthy rube!'

Rapunzel tried to curtsy, and ended up tripping over her waterfall cape and falling onto the floor with a surprised yelp. More laughter ensued.

"_This_ is the princess of Corona Kingdom?" Cruella scoffed, "She's not even fit to be my milk-maid!"

"We're very disappointed in you, Rapunzel."

She struggled to get up, "Father? Mother?"

"Our daughter is not so clumsy, or sloppy, or underdressed-"

"-or immature, _clumsy-_"

"How can you say that?" Rapunzel cried out, blinking back hot tears, "Stop! Stop it!"

Everyone in the room was joining in the ridicule song now. _"-gullible, naive, positively grumpy-"_

"Stop it!" Rapunzel collapsed to the ground, burying her face in her hands and sobbing, and then . . .

A gentle hand came down on her shoulder, shaking her gently. "Rapunzel?"

". . . positively grumpy . . . ditzy and a bit . . . hmm, whaa?" Rapunzel murmured sleepily, blinking and staring off into space blearily. The halls of Corona Palace disappeared along with the mocking crowd of royalty and nobility, and instead of the monstrous rictus of her parents, she saw the most loving face staring down on her, the kind a mother would look upon with onto her child. She was in her bedroom . . . right, it was just a dream . . . "Oh . . . erm . . . hello, your Majesty."

The queen concealed her expression expertly, not a flinch came out of her. "Bad dreams?"

She nodded pensively and buried her face into her pink laced pillow, "About tomorrow."

"I see. The coronation."

"I overslept and then I was late for the ceremony, and everyone was staring at me, and there were songs, and you were there, and Jasper-"

"Who's Jasper?"

Rapunzel racked her brain for a memory. "I don't know."

And she withdrew back into her pillow, sobbing silently.

"Rapunzel, you'll do fine," she assured her, and there was such faith in her voice it made Rapunzel lift the pillow just enough to peek. "I think you'll make a wonderful princess."

She stifled her sobs, "But what if I messed up my lines or tripped on my dress? What if they don't like me?"

"We're all human. Everyone makes mistakes," she said, then went on to add with a sporting smile that promised a great tale, "Did I ever tell you about how my coronation day went?"

Still hiccuping, she shook her head.

"I threw up on my father's clothes just as they were about to set the crown on my head." She smiled as Rapunzel gasped with plate-wide eyes.

"That's horrible!"

"I thought so too then," she confessed, "But now that I'm older, I can look back at those days and laugh about them, just like how I'm doing it with you now. All will come to pass, Rapunzel. Whatever happens, happens, but nothing will ever change how I feel about you."

"What's that?"

She planted a kiss on her forehead, "That I love you with all of my heart."

Rapunzel nestled her face into the refuge of the Queen's bosom, feeling her warmth seep through her and lay waste to her anxieties. But then something else prodded her thoughts. She turned to look up at the Queen. "Your Majesty?"

"Yes, Rapunzel?"

The girl half-hid her face behind her blanket, "You don't think I'm . . . clumsy, do you?"

She smiled back demurely, "I think you're perfect just the way you are."

"Really?"

"Really."

Rapunzel looked on, still a nervous wreck.

"Really really?"

The Queen laughed, and instead of replying in same, she did something better. She leaned in closer, held Rapunzel's finger in a pinky swear, and said with an unshakeable conviction that was all too maddeningly familiar and, without a doubt, hereditary . . . "I promise."

And something in her mind was instantly put to rest. Rapunzel smiled with satisfaction by the answer, then yawned, suddenly feeling a lot sleepier. She turned to her side, snuggling her bolster tightly, and slowly her eyelids fluttered shut. Within seconds, Rapunzel was snoring peacefully, her blanketed body moving up and down in a peaceful rhythm. The Queen tucked her in. "I love you, Rapunzel," she said, not expecting a reply.

But one did come. Rapunzel mumbled something in her sleep. "I love you more . . ."

Confusion managed to break through the Queen's impassive mask for just the fraction of a second, but she regained her composure, and running a finger through her daughter's hair once more - before gold, now forest brown, a symbol of all the time they had lost and the change she never got to see - she blew the lamp out and closed the door, leaving Rapunzel to sleep.

No creepy old witch was going to steal her from out the balcony this time. Starting tomorrow her daughter will finally get to live the life she had been missing out this whole time. A normal life.

Boy how wrong she was.


	2. Party Crashers

_**Coronation Part 2: Party Crashers**_

It was the Princess's coronation day today! The folks of the kingdom have been waiting eighteen long years for this festival, and they're certainly not going to hold back now! They've endured days upon days of tireless rehearsing should the need to break into dance impromptu ever arise. They know how Rapunzel is with square-dancing, so they might as well look good while they're at it.

The feast had been prepared, and like moths to a light they will come. The shop-lots had been closed for the holiday, the streets packed. Children were running through in their sparkling princess gowns and Flynn Rider get-ups, faces pink with mirth as they reenact scenes of damsels and dudes in distress. The crowd streaming their way into the castle courtyard, mingling amidst the bedecked imperial colors of circus tents and jester parades, while above a multitude of flags fluttered in the flower-scented breath of the morning breeze.

Also, there was fighting. Yes, there was much fighting with swords and frying pans and skull-hilted axes, and screams of agonizing pain in this happy summer holiday.

An arrow crashed through the window of Eugene's room.

If it weren't for the coronation today, he would have gone for the usual 'white cotton shirt, teal leather vest, keep one unbuttoned to reveal the faintest hint of chest hair (the ladies like)' get-up. But today, out of an obligation to decorum, and a personal promise to Rapunzel, he had to don the ceremonial 'prince uniform', even though he wasn't a prince yet, all stripes and sashes, with the maroon beret, and shoulder-guards that made him look broader than he was. The collar was itchy and restraining, and the pants a little too tight, but Eugene assured himself that this was the last and only day he would be wearing this costume. Until his wedding day, that is. "It's Her Highness's coronation," the page would remind him, "You do want to look smart, don't you?" No, he didn't want to look smart. He just wanted to look himself, the way Rapunzel wanted him to be. He took a look at his mirror - for mere seconds before a stray arrow broke it - and he had to admit, he did look pretty good. He could only imagine how Rapunzel would look like.

He examined the damage on the window, and took a peek outside, saw some form of rioting going on at the palace gates. Nay, not a rioting, an invasion. Neanderthal-esque men, thugs, the saltiest scum of the earth, and . . . a mime? Eugene clasped the bridge of his nose. Okay, so now _this _was serious.

He rushed out the bedroom.

* * *

"Barricade the gates! Ready the oil!"

"RAAAARGH!"

The eight-feet tall man-bear creature known to his puny mortal friends as Vladmir charged through the phalanx of guards as if they were paperweights, launching some of then in majestic arcs through the skies of Corona Kingdom. Eugene ducked just in time to see some airborne guards whiz above him and land in a fortituously-placed stack of hay, and continued his casual walk towards the little scene forming at the gates, munching on an apple. The people outside were staying well away, the people inside the courtyard, watching curiously. Maybe this was some sort of presentation, a display of the Imperial Guard's skill and strength. While it failed to accomplish that, they were still enjoying the show.

Eugene sailed down the battlements and onto the other side of the castle, where the thugs were trying to pummel their way in using an uprooted tree.

"Some welcome wagon this is!" came the infuriated, gravelly cry of Hook-hand as he approached, "First they block us from coming in, now they sent Rider here to greet us!"

"Rider? What the hell, Rider!" yelled Big-nose, automatically presuming this to be his fault on the sole account that he was Rider.

"Great to see you too, guys," he said, leaning on a lamppost. He threw a casual glance at the pummel, hoping that his diplomacy skills worked as well with the same gender. "So? Sieging the palace gates, eh? Just the usual?"

"You wanna tell the guys to let up?" said Hook-hand in mid-uppercut, knocking the molars off one guard, "Atilla's cupcakes are getting soggy!"

"_Sooooggy!" _came the exclamation. Eugene took a few cautious steps back.

"I'm really glad you guys decided to show up, really, I've missed you. I didn't know you cared. But see, the thing is, Hook-hand, we can't let you in. Or any of you," he said, rubbing an invisible itch at the back of his neck. He couldn't tell them that they would mess up Rapunzel's big day, they wouldn't understand. They were third-class pillaging Huns without an inkling about protocol or etiquette as one would get. But then again, so was he. How was he supposed to handle this? So he said, "This is an_ invite_-only ceremony."

There was a pause in the pummeling as the siege-men froze and simultaneously turned to look at him. Even the guards stopped, confused by the sudden lull. Everyone was staring dumbfounded at Eugene.

Hook-hand's eyebrows knitted into a frown. "What are you talking about? Of course we know that! We knew this was an invite-only ceremony, right, guys?"

"Yeah! We got them cards! See?" Big-nose handed the royal invitation letter to him. It looked completely legitimate, and Eugene knew this because it was written in pink and was near-saturated with flowers and exclamation marks. It had Rapunzel written all over it, figuratively speaking. He doubted they could have forged this.

"So you gonna let us in or what?" Killer said.

"Yeah, we wanna see Rapunzel! Ain't seen her in a year!"

He sighed. He couldn't believe he was doing this. But if Rapunzel chose this . . .

He pantomimed the act of washing his hands clean, an act that Uwf imitated for the sheer fun of it. "No skin off my teeth. I'll tell the guards you've got seats waiting for you."

"Oh, no need for that," Hook-hand said, "We were just being polite and all, acting like it was hard." He turned to the thug army, "Okay, fellas, smash 'em through!"

They dropped the tree and ran away, all except Vladmir, who smashed through the door. That wasn't an expression, Vladmir didn't feel like opening the door, so he just raised one large steel base and cap boot, and smashed it of its frame, like a fist flying out of a particularly powerful jack in the box. Two tons of reinforced teak fell to the ground in a wall of dust.

"YEAAAAAAH!"

* * *

"Okay, so how do I look?" Rapunzel said, twirling her gossamer-fine lavender dress for Her Majesty to see. She got the approval from her maids in the form of squeals and giggles, and a charming smile from the Queen.

"You will be the envy of the party," the Queen said, "I know many girls who would do anything just to look like you."

"Well, that's silly," she said with a frown, though inside she was beaming.

"Of course, part of it has to do with all the suitors whom you've managed to catch," the Queen said with a wink.

She flushed scarlet, "Are you talking about Eugene?"

"Naturally I was referring to all the guards, kitchen-boys and gardeners who have been ogling you for quite a while now, but I guess I have Eugene to thank for keeping them at bay."

Rapunzel became even more startled. "Gardeners?" Now that she mentioned it, Blake has been spending more time hoeing outside her balcony . . .

"Eugene's one lucky man." The Queen took her by the hand just as the final touches to her hair was made, "Come. I have a surprise for you." They walked down the corridor.

Rapunzel's eyes reached saucer-wide proportions, and a sunshine-sweet smile burst across her face. "Hazelnut soup?"

"Oh, Rapunzel," the Queen chuckled, having grown accustomed to the strange answers her daughter gave, "Not hazelnut soup, no. I sent out invitations to all the fiefs and noble estates, inviting them to attend your coronation. Most of your friends have already confirmed their attendance, among some which I can recall, a certain Princess Tiana -"

Rapunzel leapt and squealed excitedly. "Tiana! Tiana's coming! Ee!" She clapped her hands, then paused as another name came forward, "What about Lady Anabelle?"

"Anabelle? Yes, I do believe there was an Anabelle Mary di Sterlin -"

She inhaled sharply, unable to contain herself. Without warning, she rushed out to the door that led into the main courtyard. "Oh, I can't wait for them to meet Eugene, and Pascal, and Maximus, and my friends from the Snuggly Duckling!"

The smile from the Queen's face was wiped clean off. "Rapunzel? What was that about the Snuggly Duckling?"

Before she could catch up, Rapunzel pushed the twin doors open, into the sunlight, and everything in the courtyard froze. Eugene and the Captain had been in the midst of some animated shouting row, but upon seeing her, they were now both looking very sickly-pale, and then Eugene took the easy way out by pretending to faint. Hook-hand, Killer, Bruiser, Fang, Vladmir, and Big-nose were paused in mid-brawl with Maximus, who seemed to have the upper hand, fists floating and weapons reared high. And in the centre of the courtyard, looking mightily displeased, were all the dukes, duchesses, lords and ladies, princes and princesses, and counts and countesses, looking faint enough to be carried away by the wind. King Hendrick looked ready to lapse into a heart attack, and Countess Cruella was just waiting, _waiting_ to throw one of her world-famous tantrums.

Rapunzel noticed Tiana and Anabelle somewhere in the crowd, and she waved, happily. "Yay! You're all here!"


	3. White Knight

**Author's Note**: This chapter has been an absolute blast to write. Tangled may not have had a need for a knight-in-shining-armor archetype, but it's an iconic part of fairytale all the same, plus it gives me an excuse to put Eugene in a knight costume just for kicks. Hope you have fun reading. ~Reading Disorder

**Coronation Part 3: White Knight**

Eugene and Maximus were never the best of friends. They never had anything in common; if there was a spectrum for human-equine compatibility, they would be on the opposite polar ends. They quarreled, they squabbled, and sometimes they jabbed each other in the stomachs. And it's not very hard to see why. One was disciplined and stoic, the Tower and Fortress itself, a righteous paladin of noble breed who adhered to stately values like honor and duty as one's greatest measure in life. And then there was Eugene. A carefree adventurous spirit who went wherever the wind took him. Putting those two together was like the equivalent of directing an unstoppable force towards an immovable object. It was like watching a tragic accident in slow motion.

But give it a few years and now look where they were: old friends, united in that unchangeable bond born and cemented amidst great adventure, and apples. For example, rescuing him from the iron clutches of the law. Or riding astride in chivalrous combat as noble knight and steed, fighting for the honor of their dear maiden Rapunzel. Such as they were about to find out now.

"Remind me again why I'm doing this."

Rapunzel tenderly clasped the steel spaulders onto Eugene's shoulders, admiring her work of transforming her bandit boyfriend into a knight in shining armour with swooning awe. "All the princes do it!" she blurted out in delight, "Plus, you'll get to show that poopy-face Cruella never, ever to spoil my coronation ever again!"

Well that made sense. Shortly after their arrival, the Countess and Rapunzel's mother had taken to having a civilized, gentlemanly discussion on her barbarian daughter's acquired taste in companions. He couldn't hear much amidst the thugs' broken chorus of 'I've Got a Dream' but he did know that Her Majesty was trying her best to defend Rapunzel - when Shorty took that opportune moment to show off his dance moves half-naked atop the alcove roof. Or maybe he was acting that he was drowning. Eugene couldn't tell.

Needless to say the discussion didn't last very long - alarms were ringing in Eugene's head when he saw them folding up their sleeves, and Cruella brandishing her parasol like a murder weapon, both ready to begin the cat-fight of the monarchs, a new imperialist war or the re-emergence of the Dark Ages, with Hook-hand already passing the beer mugs around (_Now_ it's a party!). And somehow he saw it as a good idea to intervene.

"And this must be the infamous Flynn Rider," Cruella had said, inspecting him through her prim square glasses. "The common bandit. A good match for your daughter, so it seems."

Eugene was half-caught between the reaction of being flattered or insulted, so he simply settled for one quizzically-raised eyebrow.

"When are you going to introduce your daughter to some worthy suitors, Elizabeth." He caught a glance of the Queen's eye twitching. "Like my dear son Fitzpatrick."

Taking his cue, the rotund, rosy-faced prince grabbed Rapunzel's hand with his meaty right hand, and planted a moist, slimy kiss on the back of her palm. Rapunzel shivered squeamishly in a manner that Fitzpatrick mistook for enjoyment, and so he deepened the kiss.

"A regular Prince Charming, isn't he? Quite the catch for someone worthy."

Suddenly this whole idea of beating the guy who made a move on his girl didn't seem so bad anymore.

A five minutes later, and after a demand to settle a dispute the traditional way, Eugene was in the stables, playing dress-up and being attended to by squires. And all this talk about a champion of Corona's choice defending Princess Rapunzel's honor.

"Rapunzel, I'm all for grounding people into the dust, but . . . jousting?" Eugene gave the lance in his hands a twirl, a sight made disgraceful by its cumbersome weight. "Why don't you just give that Fitzpatrick guy one right between the eyes and just call it a day?" Somewhere in the stables, Maximus voiced out a neigh of approval.

"Because that isn't lady-like," she said with a rightly sweet proportion of feminine grace, presenting a girlish curtsy.

Eugene made a face. "Social norms."

She wagged a finger of warning, "And _no_ frying pans."

"Aww." He took out the kitchen utensil he was hiding in his belt and dropped it into her hands, disappointed.

"Thank you."

"So go through the rules with me again," said Eugene as he fastened his gauntlets, "Don't fall off your horse."

She nodded vigorously. "Mm-hmm!"

"No hand-to-hand."

"Nuh-uh."

"Not even a kick between the legs."

She narrowed her eyes, "_Eugene." She _fitted the knight's helmet onto his head, and lowered the visor down until his vision became obstructed by black film-lines. Atilla gave a thumbs-up from the corner.

"Just have fun, okay?" She pecked him on the cheek. Or at least, the metal part of the helmet covering his cheek. He kind of missed the sensation of Rapunzel's peppermint lips and made a mental note to compensate for that later. She skipped out the stables to leave him for the final preparations, but not before blowing him another kiss for good luck and sweetly saying, "I'll be watching!"

He rolled his eyes, "Yay!"

* * *

The person that came trotting out the stables astride Maximus was not Eugene.

He was Sir Flynn Rider, stalwart knight-errant of Corona Kingdom, and arcangel of justice. Finely-tempered silver shone resplendent with golden streaks of light, the polished decorated armour glistening like jewels. He was more of the knightly figure from a fairytale myth, an enigma of flesh and steel, and less of a man from this petty provincial reality. He stood tall and proud, as if the very morning light shone from his shield, the visage of the imperial plate armour endowing him with a noble courage he never knew he had.

A hundred eyes at least must have been gazing on at him, thundering with applause and the saluting call of trumpets, but Sir Flynn Rider had eyes for only one person. He glanced up at Rapunzel, who was now seated at the viewing stand. She was coiling a finger around her hair, biting her lower lip, and looking at him rather _hungrily_. A sudden tightness grew inside him. He's never seen Rapunzel look at him like _that_ before.

They marched as one entity, Maximus and Eugene, two vastly different beings that were an impeccable team. One took things head-on, the other knew clever circumvention. Maximus was enviably skilled, Eugene had the resourcefulness to use them. Above all, though, they were loyal to each other.

They met Fitzpatrick on the jousting field. It was a long stretch of grass, with little room for mistakes and only a straight charge as the sole option. Fitzpatrick pulled the reins on his horse, a mighty stallion with a midnight-black mane, and they ground to an abrupt but precise halt inches away from them. The customary 'stare-them-down' ensued.

"Rules," explained the referee, "If you score a body hit, that's one point. If you break the opponent's lance, that's two points. If you get them off their horse, three points. No dirty tricks, no below the belt, no foul play and no outside help. If I catch anything, it's a deduction. Got it?"

"Got it." They both said.

"Mother was right about you," Fitzpatrick said, "You're not royalty. Even the barbarian princess will realize that and come to her senses eventually." He scoffed. "I suppose that she would make an excellent concubine for what she's worth."

Something hard hit him on the shin, hard enough to dent his knee-guards.

"Ow! Felony!"

"Wasn't me," he shrugged, throwing Maximus a furtive glance as he was quickly withdrawing his hoof, whistling.

"Knights, to your stations."

The two horses retreated to the far ends of the field. He could see Fitzpatrick's coach whisper something into his ear, and his grin grew even wider, his eyes narrowing straight at him.

The referee raised the banner that would signal the start of the match, and yelled:

_"LET US ENGAGE IN COMBAT UNTIL SUCH A TIME AS ALL COMBATANTS ON ONE SIDE HAVE FALLEN IN COMBAT WHICH WILL DETERMINE WHICH COMBATANTS ARE SUPERIOR! AT COMBAT!"_

Eugene took a deep breath, feeling the world slip away, the cheering crowd and the name-chanting of the thugs and the mirthful cries of Rapunzel, until all he could hear was the steady beating of his own heart, and his calm breathing. "Ready, Max?"

The horse grunted in acknowledgement, hoofs gouging out trenches in the ground.

The referee shot the banner downwards.

_**"BEGIN!"**_

The wind whipped deafeningly at his ears. The trees and people blended into a blur of color. _Clop. Clop. Clop._ The steady rococo of metal horseshoes beating against dusty gravel. Sunlight in his eyes, turning the world into a rolling field of golden-yellow. Slowly, the dreaded visage of Sir Fitzpatrick and his lance, pointed straight at his heart, grew larger, and larger, and larger . . .

_Clash._


	4. The Duel

**Coronation Part 4: The Duel**

"Go, Eugene!"

Something hot grazed across his arm.

The impact sent tremors through his every bone and muscle, and for a moment his whole world flashed a blinding white, the grate of steel on steel ringing deafeningly in his ears. Hot pain jabbed through his entire left body, and a constellation of stars swept across his vision. He didn't realize it but he screamed, and as Maximus slowed his gallop in concern, Flynn reached out to touch the wound on his shoulder, a part of his body that now felt completely numb - it was warm and sticky. The armor on his shoulder had been cut completely off.

Flynn was no stranger to pain, concussion or penetration, but _damn_ did that hurt.

Rapunzel's gasp of distress was audible even from the viewing stands, "Oh no, Eugene got hurt!"

"You want someone to hold you, girlie?" one of the thugs tried.

Flynn searched the crowd, picked out a random thug, and pointed the lance straight at him, a murderous glare shining from his face. Yeah, he got the message.

An urgent neigh from his steed brought him back up to speed, and with a quick pull on the reins, he steered Maximus back round to face his opponent, and to his great dismay Colossal Pervert Prince Fitzpatrick was looking completely a-okay. Did he even manage to hit him? He was smirking back at him. That little _bastard. _

"ONE POINT FOR SIR PRINCE FITZPATRICK, DEFENDER OF THE FAITH, DUKE OF PENUMBRA, COUNT OF MERIONETH, LORD OF THE DISTINGUISHED IMPERIAL SERVICE AND THE MOST VENERABLE ORDER OF THE KNIGHTS HOSPITALIA-" He paused to take a breath.

"NO POINTS FOR SIR FLYNN RIDER!"

Flynn's heart was pounding in his chest, his wound throbbing along with the thunderous beat. Prince Fitzpatrick was already preparing for the second charge, lance at the ready, his black horse rearing up its front hoofs in a menacing near-predatory display. Flynn Rider has always _loved_ flight over fight. Running away and living again to fight another day instead of being both macho and stupid was a great life stratagem, because you get to live. And he liked living. But some problems you couldn't run from. Like now. He couldn't do this.

He couldn't do this. Why was he doing this?

The wave of the flag signaled Round 2, and the knight charged once more, a frightening sight that could utterly sap the bravery of any good man. Reflex took over - he pulled on Maximus's reins _hard_, trying to pull him away, away from this conflict, but this is where the two inseparable friends met an impasse: Maximus does not run from a fight. Against the panicking cries of his rider, he charged forward, meeting his less-skilled adversary in the great equalizer of close combat.

What happened next was a blur for Flynn; but he did know that amidst the chaos, somehow, his lance managed to meet his target, and it struck so hard his entire armored body rattled. Both weapons clashed, and Flynn could smell vaporised metal, taste blood in his lips, as Fitzpatrick's lance suddenly burst asunder into riven fragments.

They brushed past again until they were at opposite sides of the field.

"SIR FLYNN RIDER: TWO POINTS!"

So he had managed to break Fitzpatrick's lance.

If the crowd was wild before, they were absolutely _barbaric _now (though what else could you expect from thugs); raucous cheering very much unlike the rigid, unenthusiastic clapping that followed suit from Fitzpatrick's supporters. The thugs may make horrible party guests, but they were unmatched noise-makers. Flynn gave the crowd a toothy grin and eyebrow wiggle, unabashed to show off his natural showmanship.

"You can do it, Eugene!"

Rapunzel was jumping up and down with uncontrollable glee. For the most fleeting of moments, they locked eyes, and Flynn's heart leapt at his throat when her entire demeanor slipped into something catty; she turned to look at him with a half-dreamy, half-sly grin. He couldn't help but feel lost in those eyes . . . those bright, celadon eyes that lit up the world around her. Something deep inside him stirred, and it gave him newfound strength.

_Now_ he remembered why he was doing this.

The referee thrust the flag down, "BEGIN ROUND THREE!"

"Fear not, my dear maiden, for I shall vanquish the beast!" It came out before he could even stop his mouth from saying it. Now he felt like a big dork. Okay, so maybe he was enjoying this a little bit too much for him to be comfortable with. The bastard prince shot him a look he could only describe as nasty. A look that no good thing can ever come out of. He knew that look. The Stabbington brothers gave him that look all the time. It was his first warning sign that something terrible and not necessarily by-the-book was about to happen.

Maximus shot forward like a blazing arrow. "Tally-ho!"

It was becoming like second nature to him now: the blur of movement, the adrenaline of speed, both overwhelming and invigorating at the same time. And for the third time today, the quagmire of battle was joined. This time Eugene didn't feel anything. He didn't feel pain, or the rattling of his armor absorbing the shock, or even his lance touching anything.

What he _did _feel was a sweeping blow underneath his knees, and then suddenly Maximus was crying out in pain, and before he knew it they were both skidding on the ground, tumbling and rolling and swallowing mouthfuls of dirt before finally grinding to a halt. Maximus was not too far behind, his knee bleeding where the lance had struck him.

"Max!"Dropping his lance, Flynn crawled his way to his side, left arm screaming in protest. "Maximus," he called out, voice breaking with distress, "Max, are you okay? How many fingers am I holding up?"

The horse neighed. That was right: nay. He wasn't holding his fingers up at all.

"FOUR POINTS FOR SIR PRINCE FITZPATRICK!"

"Wait a minute, wait a minute, hold on!" Flynn cried out as he got back up on his feet, a herculean effort considering all the armor he was wearing, "He cheated! He hit me below the belt! He struck Maximus!"

The referee barely even glanced his way, "Not so funny when it's happening to you, eh? Criminal?" He looked smug at Flynn's muteness, who for once his life, had no witty retort. There really wasn't a leg to stand on here.

"SIR RIDER HAS NO HORSE! THE MATCH IS OVER!"

_That_ did not go over well with the audience. The frenzied mob of thugs shouted and roared, waving their weapons in the air; some were already climbing over the stands and clamoring over to punch someone, anyone. This was usually how bar brawls started, and how accidents with broken bottles and fire-tipped arrows always happened. Flynn was pulling off his helmet, intending to use it as a deadly projectile, and was just about to join them when he remembered that somewhere in the crowd was his girlfriend, and the most frightening image of Rapunzel being helplessly stampeded on by a mob of thugs pasted itself onto Eugene's mind.

Time to panic.

He rushed straight into the wall of dust, shoving and shoved back, hoping to catch a glimpse of pink or hear her voice respond to his terrified cries.

It was threatening to descend into complete anarchy, were it not for the small movement coming from the limp, white figure in the fields, an event that brought a sudden hush onto the courtyard, and every eye staring in breath-taking trepidation.

Maximus was back up.

Wobbling, feeble, head dropped in an expression of agonizing pain, bleeding profusely, but up. It took every ounce of his strength to nod his head at Flynn, as if to say, _'I got you. I'm right beside you. I'm not quitting and I'm seeing this through with you. And I want you to beat that sonuvabitch up good.'_

He was standing tall now, beckoning to his saddle for Flynn to get up and get this over with. The cheering returned, but quickly died down when they saw just how shaky and pained the horse was, and it was replaced by a tension in the air so thick you could cut it with a knife. Wordlessly, Flynn climbed aboard.

"Last round, Max," he said, patting his neck, feeling the horse's entire body tremble, "I'll get this done."

_'Do you have a plan?'_

"Don't I always?" he said, not perturbed at all by the fact that he was talking to a horse. The adrenaline must be making him delirious. "Stay calm, smile, and just follow my lead." He gave him the most reassuring smile he could muster, and was even more surprised when it was returned. "Looking good is half the battle." Max nodded slowly. He hoped that it will cover the fact that he really didn't have a plan at all.

"BEGIN ROUND FOUR!" _The last round. _

They charged forward again. Well, not so much of charging as it was limping for Max's case, their momentum was pathetic in comparison to the equine juggernaut headed their way now. But Max was trying his best.

He had four seconds to come up with something before they hit, got even more injured, and lose the match. Four seconds to turn the tide around and end this match now. And while planning had always been Flynn Rider's forte - the crown and whatnot - right now he had nothing. This whole 'no-breaking-the-rules' was something new to him, an angle he had never needed to consider until now. He needed to win this fair and square.

All his life had asked himself: 'what would Flynn Rider do?'

Today he was going to ask himself what Eugene Fitzherbert would do.

They were only inches apart now. His time was up.

Without thinking, with whatever bravery he could muster up, with the whole crowd watching and with Fitzpatrick's lance grazing, he stood up on Maximus's saddle, and leapt. Out of Maximus's saddle. Straight into Fitzpatrick's surprised face.

Eugene grabbed the mane of the black horse and clung on for dear life, hanging like dead weight on one side, while his original steed zoomed past him in the opposite direction. The grass underneath him was all just a blur; he was merely inches away from touching it. Now he was attached to them like a barnacle, the horse still galloping wildly. Two riders, on a horse, one in mid-hijack.

It worked. He couldn't believe it worked. He looked around, wind lashing and terrorizing his oh-so beautiful hair, and wondered . . . now what.

He brought his free hand up for an attack.

_Slap! _Normally such a physical attack wouldn't warrant much effectiveness, but then Flynn remembered he was wearing steel plate gauntlets with buckles. Fitpatrick's helmet rattled with a tenuous high-pitched echo.

He brought his arm around again for another attack. This time he punched.

The prince's limp figure fell of the horse in a cloud of dust, groaning. Eugene took the saddle, pulled the reins to stop the horse, and took the moment of sudden, stunned, _very long _silence to consider what had just happened. He was on Fitzpatrick's horse. Fitzpatrick was on the ground. His mind slowly worked the cogs. So . . . that meant he had thrown Fitzpatrick off his horse. That was worth three points.

And he had two beforehand, so two plus three makes . . . six? He counted on his fingers again. Eight? No, wait-

"FIVE POINTS FOR SIR RIDER! PRINCE FITZPATRICK HAS NO HORSE! THE MATCH IS OVER!" He lifted up the Corona flag, the banner of the rising Sun, "SIR RIDER IS THE VICTOR!"

And the crowd went absolutely bonkers. They were throwing confetti, flowers, sounding the trumpets, popping the wine bottles. Right now Flynn Rider would be basking in the spotlight; he would catch and hoard all this lavish attention in a bottle and enjoy it all. Blow kisses, take bows, strike a pose, not too rare coming from him. But now he was Eugene Fitzherbert, and what Eugene Fitzherbert really wanted right now was to be in the arms of a certain girl of his dreams, and simply lift her in the air and spin her round, then kiss the nape of her neck, and simply ravish all of his love and gratitude onto her like there was no tomorrow. It seems that a near-death experience was a very efficient aphrodisiac.

The inevitable crowd came rushing up to him, ready to lift him up and throw him into the air with jolly cheers and carry him to the festive tavern-

-when instead they brushed right past him and grabbed Maximus instead.

_"For he's a jolly good fellow / for he's a jolly good fellow/ for he's a jolly good felloooooooooooow! -"_

"Mmf mmf mmm mmmf mm mm mmmm!" Uwf finished.

"Hooray for Maximus!" squealed Rapunzel as the thugs disappeared into the stable. She skipped along to a very dejected and eye-twitching Eugene, "He really deserved it, didn't he?"

He rubbed his wounded left shoulder in a physical effort to massage his broken ego, "You are a cruel, cruel woman."

Interminable giggles burst from her, much to Eugene's further depression, and then she suddenly grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him down. Eugene didn't know she was capable of supporting a fully-armored man, though he supposed a more important question was . . . what had just gotten into her. What was also remarkable was how the expression on her face changed, from a plafyul teasing smile to this hungry, conquering look. A naughty look that felt so wrong . . . and yet so right. And honestly, he didn't know where she was getting this from. But hey, he wasn't complaining.

He grimaced as another ton of pain shot up his arm.

Her expression softened. "Eugene? Are you okay?"

He put on a mask of mock hurt. "Terrible."

"Oh, what a shame," she continued in a sweetly lilting tone, "Whatever are you going to do with your spoils?"

He blinked. "Spoils?"

"Your _reward_, my gallant knight." That voice, so sultry. Batting her eyes. The way her hips rubbed against his, it awakened something primal and carnal inside him. Damn, it was contagious.

Part of his mind started to backpedal furiously. Not here. Not now. Not when the Queen was looking and as a matter of fact, not when the whole of the kingdom was watching, damnit. And yet . . .

. . . and yet a small part of his mind was yearning for it. To just feel how those lips tasted on his. To feel the warmth of her body mingle with his again. The conflict of every man raged within him, and as Rapunzel leaned in closer, as their lips met, as she poured all her fiery passion inside that kiss and the tingly sensation of electricity flowed through him, that part of his mind promptly shut down and went on vacation. Let them watch. The next thing he knew, he was on the ground, and Rapunzel was furiously working her way through his armor, trying to peel them off, looking like she was burning up inside. First the shoulder guards, then the chestplate, the leg greaves, and then the _loin-guards_.

As the last piece of armor came off, Rapunzel bent down further from her straddling position, reaching down to whisper in his ear, her gasps of breath laced with hot desire.

"Eugene?"

He brushed a stray lock of brown hair from her face. "Yeah, blondie?"

She grinned, "I signed us up for jousting lessons."

All the color from his face drained.

"Now we can do it together!" she squealed excitedly, "Isn't that great, Eugene? . . . Eugene?" She prodded him with a finger, "Eu-Eugene?"

**Author's Note:** Poor guy can't catch a break. Stay tuned for the epilogue.


	5. Sword Dance

**Author's Note**: I apologize for the long-delayed epilogue. Life has taken a painful and unexpected turn for me, and it's not going to go away soon. You know how it is. Anyway, the newest chapter and close to the Coronation saga is here, without further ado. Hope you enjoy, and have fun reading.

**Coronation Part 5: Sword Dance**

No one could explain the sudden, morbid, unwomanly fancies that had overtaken Rapunzel following her disastrous coronation and spontaneous jousting a few months ago.

It came gradually at first, when her tutors started to remark on her being late or missing for her private lessons, or the guards who caught sight of her sneaking through the barracks with a guilty smile and a suspicious-looking casket in her hands, and just the faintest glimmer of sword-steel shining from the inside, but they dismissed it and carried on their duties with blissful ignorance, not knowing the change that was growing in her. Eventually it grew too obvious to dismiss. The royal library mourned for the loss of their favourite and most frequent visitor, Rapunzel dearest, who was now but a specter and vague memory among the bookshelves, and was instead spending her time out in the muddy, grassy fields, practicing how to lunge with a rapier and shoot with a bow and bash with a shield, instead of reading about Victorian architecture. When before she was bashful about her new acquired taste in hobbies, now, as word spread across the castle, she decided her efforts to be in vain and that she had nothing to be ashamed of, and made no attempt to hide it. Once in a moment of overzealous confusion, she had bespattered her face with markings of pink crayon as war paint, and ran through the corridors with a spear held the wrong way, screaming 'Long live Her Majesty!' and frightening the hearts out of butlers' mouths the entire day, until Eugene finally managed to get a hold of her as she was sliding down the banister in her rendition of the Charge of the Light Brigade and held her down long enough into a condition of unwilling surrender. This was cause enough for her understanding boyfriend to bring this issue to the ears of her parents.

Rapunzel's acute boyish phase came as news of uncharacteristic surprise to King and Queen of Corona, who had long grown accustomed to being invited to her tea parties, manicures and pillow fights, and was now hearing that their little girl was interested in picking up fencing and jousting, a sport normally exclusive to handsome princes and gallant knights. But then again, this was Rapunzel they were talking about. A nineteen year old girl who still played with her soft toys and got excited about something as trivial as the dewdrops on the grass. Surprise came often when it came to Rapunzel.

Sweetly, Eugene had volunteered as marshall and tutor, and convinced them that the only victims of her fencing would be scarecrows, not realizing the pain and humiliation he was about to endure as he took to teaching her on their first day out in the courtyard. He thought he would have learned by now that being with Rapunzel meant also to be kicked, stabbed, scratched, and hit on the head repeatedly and mercilessly in every few minute interval. Maybe he secretly enjoyed it.

That was when Rapunzel's pommel knocked him on the forehead hard, introducing him to a new constellation of stars.

No, he definitely did not enjoy this.

"Lucky shot," he said, rubbing his head, "But you know it'll only count as a point if you strike me with the tip of the blade-"

"You mean like this?"

Blink, and he had missed it. The rapier came lashing at his throat like a silver blur, and Eugene was just about to bring up his own sword to block it when he felt the icy metallic sting of the blade pressed hard against his neck. Too slow.

Eugene held his hands high in a gesture of surrender, swallowing a nervous lump in his throat as he watched the tip of the blade tail the movement of his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. He tried to keep his voice steady, "Pretty good for a beginner."

Rapunzel grinned smugly, twirling the rapier with such precise restraint as to only gently caress the bottom of his jaw, "I learned from the best." Eugene couldn't help but smirk delightfully at that comment, false though as it was.

"Alright, practice round is over," he announced with a theatrical flourish of his rapier, and then he bowed, "And now, we dance."

There was a fiery twinkle in Rapunzel's eyes - those eyes that never lost her childlike candor - but today they shone like a star amid lowering clouds. They shone with battle-lust.

And so began the sword dance in great earnest - they parried and blocked, slashed and struck, feinted and sidestepped. Eugene came to the slow realization that he was no longer teaching a pupil, but rather facing a worthy opponent of equal skill and stature, that this was an actual challenge, and that his opinion on her fighting was only growing higher and higher. He watched her swirl the rapier like a master swordsman, strafe effortlessly as if she was skating on ice, move her limbs and body with all the distracting elegance and flamboyance that she normally carried in silk gowns, but never before witnessed in military apparel.

He had always known that Rapunzel was a gifted individual - nay, not just gifted. A _gift_. She was an ace-of-all-trades if Eugene ever saw one: candlemaker, ventriloquist, ballerina, and now, sword-maiden of Corona Kingdom.

But he had yet to teach.

"No, no, wrong! All wrong!" he said impertinently, "Your hands, closer to the chest! Your chest inwards! And your legs, you need to spread them wider!" he said, his criticisms peppered between a flurry of sword attacks, which came dangerously close to his face more than he would admit.

"Sorry!"

"You're wound up tighter than a spring," he said, persuading her to relax - by screaming at her, "You need to relax, Rapunzel! Relax, Rapunzel! I said 'Relax'!"

"I'm trying!" Rapunzel pleaded, not properly defended for an onslaught that was both physical and verbal.

Eugene's sincere but deprecating insults, something that came more out of habit than an actual malicious desire, came in full and earnest force. "You call that a strike?" "Hit me harder!" "Are you even trying?" "Put your back into it, girl!"

If this was the Rapunzel of yesteryear, the 'barefoot, high-strung ingenue' so affectionately referred to before, she would have broken, thrown a fit and turned into a mess of inconsolable sobs. But this Rapunzel had borne witness to a whole year of new highs and lows, of joys and griefs of womanhood best left unmentioned, and in that year she had learned to grow a spine, to become stronger and firmer in character, so when Eugene's reprimanding came as sharp as his blade, she merely clenched her teeth together and snapped with the audacity of a woman scorned, "Eugene! Shut up!"

He rolled his eyes just as they clashed swords, "Typical. They say they want to learn but they end up shouting back."

The duel took a turn for the stranger when Rapunzel suddenly dove - coiling her knees and springing straight into the chest of Eugene Fitzherbert - who was expecting a sword lunge and not a human cannon ball to strike him. It knocked the wind right out of him, and they both fell onto the dewy grass, doing a lively performance of rolling and tumbling before they stopped with Rapunzel on top. If Eugene didn't love Rapunzel very much, he certainly wouldn't have loved her _then _- there were blades of grass and soil tangled up in her hair, mud was splashed right up to her knees, her steel guards were grinding uncomfortably with his own, and there was the pungent aroma of sweat wafting from her.

"A fair win, m'lady."

She hissed angrily, _"You let me win."_

"And why would you say that?" he said with a raised eyebrow.

She gestured to his hand that was currently gripped firmly on her behind. _"Hands off," _she warned, though the rosy color on her cheeks betrayed her true emotions.

He wordlessly obliged, an inscrutable smirk on his face that Rapunzel mistook for mischief, when he reached up with one hand to brush a stray lock of hair away from her face, and she mumbled with a soft and breathless, "What are you doing?"

He pulled her closer, until their lips locked in a passionate embrace, the sweetness of a first lover's kiss tingling across his body.

The lords and ladies of uppity noble society may think of her as the Barbarian Princess, the greatest social blight to have emerged from some uncivilized forest and a bad influence and role model to all the princesses out there, but that was not how Eugene saw her.

Yes, to Eugene, she was more.

She was no Cinderella, she was his Rapunzel, his lovely cherub and his Valkyrie guardian, and he would love her till the end, in silk dress or in chain mail, no matter what raiment she wore or what new enterprise her fickle mind took to fancy that day. Of course, that was what he loved most about her.

She's beautiful, he thought, and for a moment he was struck with an odd pang of loss. Had he lost his Rapunzel forever? Was she gone for good, the giggling, doe-eyed girl who'd not wanted to grow up?

"Don't change too much, Rapunzel," he said as they finally parted from their kiss. That was when he saw something that made him smile, for beneath the smattering of pink crayon smudged over her eyes, was the faintest dash of makeup in the form of silvery-black kohl.

She smiled, a genuinely sweet and demure one she gave only for him, and that was his answer.

"I won't."

**Author's Note:** I hope you enjoyed this new level of character development in our little Rapunzel. She's going to grow into a more mature, more worldly and more adult woman in the years to come, if you readers would like to see more, that is. So, read and review, tell me what you think. I'm leaving the fate of the story into your hands. Should I continue? ~Reading Disorder


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